


i'm already urs

by tophsgf



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Hanbrough, M/M, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Reddie, benverly - Freeform, mentioned - Freeform, pretty canon compliant, stan is dead i'm sorry :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tophsgf/pseuds/tophsgf
Summary: mike has always been the most concealed of the losers. when it's all over, when pennywise is defeated and everything changes, he still can't bring himself to reveal something he's known since the events of that summer. he's in love with bill denbrough.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	i'm already urs

**Author's Note:**

> tryna find where your head is,  
> but i’m losing myself in the process.  
> you’re bad for my health.  
> all the good nights,  
> are they hidden goodbyes in disguise?  
> (urs - NIKI)

**_Mike would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined he & Bill’s reunion for years. _**It was what kept him sane, made him feel not so brutally lonely. So why did it feel so wrong? Mike, holding on for dear life. Bill, pushing him away. Mike, consumed by someone who had forgotten his existence with an ease he would always envy. They’re sitting in the Orient, and Bev and Bill are talking like they never forgot each other, an easy rapport they’ve had since they were kids. 

He turns away from their side conversation, abruptly, and meet’s Ben’s eyes, as sad as they’ve always been. Mike had hoped growing up would change that. Clearly, it didn’t.  _ ‘I know how you’re feeling’ _ , his eyes say, _ ‘haven’t we both been feeling it for years?’  _

_ “You could just tell him, you know.” Mike and Ben are sitting in the clubhouse, breathing in the cool air of fall. “I don’t think he’d treat you any different.” It’s a sweet notion, that Mike’s little crush on Bill wouldn’t change their friendship in the slightest, but Mike knows Ben’s wrong.  _

_ “Did that work with Bev?” It comes off more aggressive than he intends, and he sees Ben shrink, eyes sad as ever. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”  _

_ “It’s okay.” Ben says, but he’s looking at Mike like he did when they had defeated It, when he caught him looking at Bill. “We’ll be okay.” He says, as if to comfort them both.  _ **_It isn’t very comforting, and it’s not like either of them believes it._ **

No one wants to believe him when he says It is back, and it’s not like he’s surprised. 

“What do you want me to say? What do you want me to say that will make any kind of difference? They’re all gone.” 

_ Yes, yes, Mike wants to say, but you aren’t. And that’s enough for me.  _

Of course, he doesn’t say that.

Instead, he resorts to begging Bill to listen, to understand. He can’t do it alone, Bill has to understand that, has to understand how alone he’s been this entire time. They all had lives, deceptive or otherwise. Mike never got that chance. 

His whole life, he’s only loved one person. A person who has always had better things to think about. 

In the end, they all listen. One way or another. It’s a sad sort of satisfaction because Mike almost wishes they didn’t. That they’d all get away from Derry forever. The opposite of what he’d done. In town, they call him crazy, and maybe they’re right.

When they beat It, when Eddie almost dies at the hands (talons?) of an insane clown, everything seems to click into place for the rest of them. Richie kisses Eddie, a fierce and breathless touch, one that neither seems to be able to comprehend is happening. Mike sees Ben look at Bev, when he sees the ever-present sadness slowly vanish, he sees how they grow together. Beverly, to her credit, is the strongest of all of them. He’s not surprised, when they eventually go their separate ways, that he hears that her ex-husband was utterly destroyed in court.

And Bill?

Bill stops wearing his wedding ring. A detail Mike would not be privy to had he not been so committed to remembering every aspect of him. Mike doesn’t comment on it.  _ Not his place. _

It’s also not his place, he decides, to tell Bill all the things he remembers of them. Because as Bill’s memories come back, he’ll likely brush them off. And Mike can’t handle knowing for sure how much less Bill cares than he does.

So he tells Bill he loves him, and Bill says it back. But it’s two different kinds of love, and Mike knows it.

He doesn’t tell Bill when he moves out of Florida and comes to New York, staying in a loft off of Broadway. It’s pretty much all the money he’s saved, but it doesn’t matter. 

One day, he fucks up. He’s bartending to pay the bills at a bar near Central Park, up enough flights of stairs that tourists don’t dare brave the trek. Normally, it’s empty during the day, which is when he works. The owner lets him clean, and he’s the only employee who works at this time, not enough customers to justify any more. Normally, he blasts old hits, Paul Simon, Bruce Springsteen. This day is no exception. 

Mike is singing to himself as he cleans the bar, his back to the door. He dimly recognizes the sound of it opening, and turns on instinct, despite the rarity of customers at this time. 

_ It’s Bill Fucking Denbrough. Fuck.  _

Bill Denbrough, who is currently observing the indie photography on the wall, and hasn’t seen him yet. Mike ponders exiting through the fire escape, and is almost about to seriously consider it when—

“Mikey?” Bill, it seems, has suddenly become disinterested in the pictures of lamp posts and old people sitting on the subway. Now, he’s looking right at Mike. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Hey.” Is his chosen response, and he immediately curses himself for how juvenile and intentionally casual it sounds. “How are you, man?”

“Yuh-you didn’t tell me you were in New York.” Bill says, and if Mike didn’t know better, he’d say Bill sounds upset.  _ But he knows better, obviously. _

“Didn’t know how long I’d be here.” Mike shoots back, fully aware of how idiotic that sounds. “And you’re, well I know you’re busy.”

“I always have time for you—” Bill starts, 

just as Mike says “how’s Audra?” 

“S’fine.” Bill says, and Mike feels his stupid, treacherous heart seize. “I mean, I thuh-think she is. Haven’t spoken to her much since the divorce.” 

_ Oh. _

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, man.” 

“Don’t be,” Bill waves him off, finally approaching the bar. “For the best.”

“What are you doing here?” Mike finally asks, breaking the uneasy silence they’ve settled into.

“Getting a drink. A friend recommended this place, and everywhere else is closed.” Bill smiles slightly, and God, Mike has missed that smile. “Great music.” He nods to Mike’s shitty Bluetooth speaker, which is currently playing Crazy Love by Paul Simon. “I don’t want no part in your love,” the song drones, and Mike curses coincidence. 

Then, the dreaded question. “How have you been, Mikey?” 

_ Bad,  _ Mike wants to say.  _ the only person he regularly speaks to is Ben, and his only company is a stray cat he found in the alley behind his apartment building.  _ “Good.” He decides on. “I’m good.” 

The look in Bill’s eyes tells Mike he sees right through that. Mike chooses to ignore that. 

“You wuh-work here.” Bill remarks, not a question. “Always thought bartenders were sexy.”

He says it so casually, Mike almost misses it. “Really?” He manages to say, and he can see Bill heat up, a soft blush he’s had since they were kids.

“Yuh-yeah, well.” Bill states, leaning forward, across the counter, and Mike almost short circuits. He’s close, tantalizingly so. And for a second, Mike allows himself to slip, to mirror the motion. 

“Mikey?” It’s a whisper, and Bill sounds strained, like he’s holding something back.

“Yeah?” He hears himself say, too quickly, too eager. 

“I re-really really missed you,” Bill says, and Mike can feel himself melting into their almost touch. “I miss you, Mikey.” 

“I miss you too.” Mike whispers, and he wants so bad to— 

He doesn’t dare imagine it. He’s concealed his feelings for so long, and won’t risk showing the shitty hand he’s been dealt.

But then Bill kisses him, soft and chaste, and his world turns upside down. Everything he thought he knew, every childhood moment he held close, completely shatters. 

‘You love him.’ His treacherous brain supplies, in a voice not dissimilar to that of the stupid fucking clown. Mike flinches, on instinct, and he can feel Bill shrink back. 

_ It’s a cold day in July, surprisingly so. Bill is leaving and doesn’t seem all that sad about it, but it’s nearly impossible to tell with Bill. Mike, as usual, is destroyed but refuses to show it. He and Bill have drifted apart, but he’s at the going-away party anyways, feeling ridiculously out of place with the more popular crowd, the friends Bill seems to have made.  _

_ “Thanks for coming, Mikey.” It’s dull, monotone, no hint of a stutter. So unlike the Bill he knew, the Bill he fell in love with slowly  _ **_that_ ** _ summer. Maybe that’s for the best, but it doesn’t make this hurt any less. _

_ “Wouldn't dream of doing anything else.” Mike kept it soft, brief. Doesn’t need to give the citizens of Derry any more reason to ridicule him.  _

_ “I’ll see you around.” Bill says, and they both know he won’t. There’s a reason none of the others have called or wrote.  _

_ “You won’t.” Mike says, absolutely certain. “I love you.” Quieter, but with the same ferocity. “Goodbye, Bill.”  _

_ “Mike-Mikey.” Bill starts, but Mike is already moving away from him, pushing past attendees to get to his bike. “Mike.” _

_ He hates the dramatic impression he’s leaving Bill with, probably the last time he’ll ever see the boy who has consumed so much of his thoughts. He thinks, maybe, that Bill whispers a soft I love you, but that’d be idiotic to hope for. _

_ It doesn’t stop him from dreaming of Bill’s grey eyes for weeks after.  _

“Sorry.” Bill says, scarily monotone - his default when he’s panicking, Mike now realizes, “Read that wrong.” There’s no hint of a stutter. 

“You didn’t.” Mike whispers, terrified to reveal himself.

“What?”

“You didn’t read that wrong.” Mike says, louder, voice almost shaking. He finally comes out from behind the bar, coming to stand directly in front of Bill.

“What?” Bill looks completely dumbfounded, and if Mike wasn’t risking revealing a secret he’s had since he was a kid, he’d find it adorable. 

“I’m in New York because you’re here, man. I wanted to tell you, but I just couldn’t. And then you showed up here, and you’re divorced and flirting with me and-”

“Mikey.” Bill is quiet now, gazing at Mike with something akin to awe. Or maybe horror, Mike doesn't want to be optimistic. 

"You can hate me for this, Bill, but I'm in love with you. I have been since we were kids. And I tried not to tell you, because you were happy without me and I'd never want to jeopardize your happiness but-"  


"I kissed Bev." Bill interrupts, and Mike's at a loss for words. He's got a good comprehension of social situations, at least he thinks he does, and this catches him completely off guard.

"Oh, Oka-"

"I kissed Bev back in the hotel, back in Derry, and neither of us enjoyed it. Because she was in love with Ben's poem's version of me, and I couldn't stop wishing she was you." 

"Oh." Mike says.

"Yeah, oh."

Then Bill kisses him, it's warm and soft and sincere and lovely and Mike knows this is a memory he will never forget. 

"If you haven't noticed," Bill says, "I have absolutely no idea what to do with my life now. But I know that whatever it is I end up doing, I want to be with you."

"Bill?"

"Yeah?"

"How much of our childhoods do you remember, now that It is gone?"

"I remember you telling me you loved me, and I remember saying it back, but by the time I had you were gone and my mother was ushering me away to talk to guests, and all I could thuh-think about was the sad look you had when you said goodbye. Like you already knew what was happening."

"Oh."

"Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Paul Simon, Mike dully recongnizes, is still playing. _"And I may be obliged to defend, Every love, every ending. Or maybe there's no obligations now."_

_"I love you too."_


End file.
